


blessed be the boys time can't capture,

by spellman (orphan_account)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 40s, Established Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, also there's a lot of no-homo its quite adorable really, and establishing said relationship, but it's vague and hopeful and idc about canon so!!!, there's a little bit of angst at the end and some infinity war foreshadowing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 22:02:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14724375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/spellman
Summary: 'And they didn't have a care in the world, not at the time, anyway.'Steve and Bucky's relationship throughout the years; because after all this time, they still waited up for each other.





	blessed be the boys time can't capture,

**Author's Note:**

> first and foremost, this was co-written by the amazing the-artofconfusion, who undoubtedly made this piece 3928405% better (i need a co-writer who doesn't make my writing look so bad lmao!!!) anyways, this is probably my longest fic so uhhhhh go nuts i guess
> 
> also fun fact the working title for this was 'shapeless lump of text' so ya you get it

_i.                  1935_

They were 17, in the playground at the end of their street; they’d ran off with a bottle of beer and a pack of cigarettes stolen from Bucky’s ma’s purse. They’d definitely come to regret that decision in a few hours when they got caught out by the smell on their shirts, but they didn’t have a care in the world, not at the time, anyway.

They sat on the swings and passed the bottle back and forth. It, admittedly, didn’t do much to get them drunk (and Bucky hated the taste, not that he’d say it out loud), but they both revelled in the feeling of being rebellious, so they enjoyed it nonetheless. They talked for hours, having both been too busy to do anything like this for a good while. Steve was caring for his mom since she’d been diagnosed, and Bucky had been the idiot that let his school reading and assignments pile up on him, so it had been months since their last night like this.

“Y’ever kissed a girl?” Bucky asked, despite the fact that this topic wasn’t at the top of his list of things he wanted to talk about. Steve shook his head, a little sheepishly.

“Nah, have you?” he asked, looking up. He was standing on the swing and rocking back and forth, and the creaking of the seat filled the momentary silence.

“No. Never really wanted to.” Bucky mused, staring off into the distance. He took a drag of the cigarette, filled his lungs. He wasn't a big fan of the taste of smoke, either.

“ _Never wanted to_ ? Man, no girls want to kiss _me_ !” Steve shook his head, laughing a little. _Oh_ , Bucky thought. Steve sat down on the swing and pushed himself forward. “Kissing is super weird, though, don’t ya think?”

“Never really thought about it.” _Lie_ , he thought. He didn’t want to kiss girls, he wanted to kiss boys. Or rather, he wanted to kiss _a boy._

There was a long drawn out silence, in which Steve stopped swinging, and Bucky focused from where he was zoned out and staring into the street. He looked over to Steve, whose eyes were drawn down to his mouth. _Steve is staring at my lips_ , Bucky thought, _and I’m going to screw this up right now_. Bucky impulsively leaned forward and pecked Steve on the lips. It was awkward, a closed-mouth, no-hands first kiss, and the distance that he had to cross between the two swings was slightly wider than he would’ve liked. He pulled away in a split second, before he was able to gauge Steve’s reaction and stood up.

“I, uh. I need to go home --- um. Curfew.” He stuttered, hoping that it was dark enough to cover his reddening cheeks. “Bye.”

Steve didn’t reply.

**

It was a while before they’d gotten ‘round to talking about it. That’s not to say that they didn’t see each other in that said while. Which isn’t to say that they didn’t _see_ each other.

The day after the incident in the park, Steve had come to Bucky’s door, and briefly looked around the street and over Bucky’s shoulder before kissing him again. It wasn’t much better than the first time, seeing as it was rushed and awkward and neither of them had said a word to each other. Bucky pushed Steve away, having heard footsteps in the house behind him.

“-----And yeah, if you could come walk down to the library with me, I need to pick up a few things for my ma?” Steve said, trying his utmost best to make it sound like he hadn’t gone there just to kiss Bucky. (Again. To kiss Bucky _again_.)

“Ma, is it alright if I go down to the library with Steve?” Ms. Barnes appeared in the doorway, leaning against the wall behind Bucky.

“You boys have never been to the library in your life, what’re you up to, hm?” she said good-naturedly, though trying her best to sound stern.

“Mrs. Rogers needs a couple’a books and she sent Steve. He doesn’t want to walk all the way there n’ back on his own and—”

“Go on, don’t be all day though. You boys are trouble, huh?”

 _If only you knew_ , Bucky thought.

They’d barely gotten out of the street before Steve grabbed Bucky by the arm and pulled him into an alley (with great difficulty, he thought). Bucky inhaled sharply. His jacket scratched against the wall behind him and he kept his gaze fixed to his shoes. He couldn’t help but wince at the feel of Steve’s cold hands (he told himself that that was the only reason he was shying away.)

“Why are you doing this?” he whispered, frowning slightly.

“ _You_ kissed _me_ yesterday,” Steve shrugged, looking over his shoulder quickly.

“And?”

“Don’t you want me to?”

“Of course I do, do _you_ want to?”

“No, Buck. That’s why I just dragged you into an alley after coming to your house to kiss you.”

“I-I don’t understand why—”

“Just kiss me again, - please?”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Bucky smirked, before gently pushing Steve against the wall. It was a lot nicer this time, both knew what they were doing (somewhat) and it lasted longer than a second (a _lot_ longer). Bucky smiled into the kiss and murmured against Steve’s lips “You have no idea how long I wanted to do this.”

“Jerk,” Steve smiled, a little self-consciously.

“Punk.”

_ii.                  1936_

It wasn’t the last time that they’d do that, admittedly. At first, they were worried that it’d ruin their friendship – or something – until they agreed that it was no-strings-attached; _just friends_

That wasn’t strictly a lie, they never got past kissing (too illegal) and never officially said that they were anything other than friends (too risky), but the line between _pals_ and _something else_ blurred over time.

March 10th, they caught a train to the coast for Bucky’s birthday, a ride in which Bucky shoved up as close to Steve as he could (“What? It’s _cold_.”) and one that was long enough for Steve to gradually move his hand close enough to Bucky’s and lace their fingers together - hidden only by a thin scarf between them.

It was a few hours on the train and a mile or so of walking to actually reach the fair, during which Bucky complained continuously that he was freezing and Steve told him multiple times to “Put a sock in it, Buck, you should've brought a thicker jacket.”

“This _is_ my thickest jacket, punk.”

It was a spontaneous decision, more or less, for Bucky's eighteenth: the Coney Island funfair, the one they'd visited ten years ago with Steve's ma for _his_ birthday, though they both remember it being much warmer and much more full of people. Steve smiled as soon as he saw the flashing lights, games stalls, candy shops, filled with an odd sort of nostalgia that burned for happier days, for days when his biggest problem was what he was gonna have for lunch. Bucky smiled, too. He smiled because Steve was smiling.

They made a wordless decision to avoid the stalls where they might have fallen into the trap of winning each other little toys, because it seemed a little bit _too_ much like a date, and instead, Bucky dragged Steve on ride after spinning ride. His ears were full of tinny music, his heart full of laughter. Bucky screamed into his ear like a little girl (multiple times). When they stumbled off a Waltzer, the sea mingled with the smell of burnt popcorn, and Steve's stomach flipped. He was _very_ nearly sick into a trash can, and Bucky just stood there and laughed, telling him he could pick what they did next.

Steve picked the photobooth.

 

“Come on, please! I got an idea.”

“Alright, you little punk. Come on.”

He let himself be pushed into the photobooth and watched as Steve put in a quarter. “Alright, are we gonna pose, or—” He was cut off by Steve kissing him gently, not as awkward as the first or second times, but still slightly too unexpected to be pleasant.

He decided _to hell with the photos_ , and grabbed Steve’s face with both hands, ignoring the fact that a flimsy curtain was the only thing separating them from everybody else. He deepened the kiss, causing Steve to push him forward, bumping him against the wall of the booth. Their noses bumped together and Steve pulled away with a giggle (hell, that what Bucky had reduced him to – giggling).

“Maybe we should try it again,” Bucky said, raising an eyebrow at the strip that had printed: four shots of them making out _in public._

“Yeah. Maybe.” Steve smiled.

Later on, they were headed home. Bucky walked Steve home from the station, despite living only a block away because he still (after _all_ these years) didn’t trust Steve to not get into scraps in the ten minutes it takes him to walk home. It may have also been an excuse to spend a little more time with him, but he’d never admit it aloud.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” Bucky asked when they reached the front step.

“Buck, wait—can I just, can we.. Talk about this?” Bucky knew exactly what Steve was referring to but frowned anyway. “You know, this thing that we—”

“Yeah, yeah. I – I know what you mean. What is it that you—”

“We’re not _just_ friends… R-right?”

“I-I don’t know.” Bucky whispered, nervous all of a sudden.

“I’ve never heard of fellas being, uh. Sweethearts before, y’know? But friends don’t do – all of this.”

“You’re saying we can be--?”

“Yeah, I guess. I mean, maybe.”

“Hmm. This is my _boyfriend_ , Steve.” He said, trying it out. He smiled. “I like that. I like _you_ ,”

“You are such a sap,”

“I do try my best. I should get going, now.” Bucky smiled. “Goodnight, my love.” He whispered, kissing Steve’s hand quickly. He laughed at Steve’s blush and embarrassed smile as he turned to leave.

“Night, Buck.”

_iii.                 1939_

            Actually, it wasn't too long before their own mothers gave them an excuse to move in together. It was all, 'You boys are getting too big for our little houses anyway,' and, 'Pfft, like you don't spend half your lives cluttering up my kitchen with your junk. Find your own place to do it.' It did make their whole rendezvous a _hell_ of a lot easier, even if the cranky old lady who lived in the room next to them would pound on the wall if they so much as _whispered_ past 9pm. ("She's probably gonna kick the bucket soon anyway, so who cares?" Bucky had insisted, roaring with laughter.)  
  
Despite their significant lack of space, they had to buy two beds, though one was completely disused. The illusion had to be kept up for when Bucky’s ma visited on Sundays - the last thing they needed was a suspicious parent. And again, it was extremely impractical to share a narrow and rickety single bed when there was a perfectly fine one not three paces to the left, but it was a sacrifice that they were both willing to make.  
"Love conquers all," Bucky had raised a fist, and Steve pushed him onto the floor.  
  
Though there did happen to be benefits: Bucky woke Steve, surprisingly romantically, with kisses every morning (he pretended to hate it, but not even an exasperated façade could fool Bucky). It was their second freezing autumn when Bucky planted a kiss on Steve’s neck, trailing his lips down to his chest. He moved his hands to Steve’s waist, but was cut off short by Steve’s hand feebly grabbing his own.  
“Buck, I just woke up, you jerk!” He hid his smile in his pillow, then smiled more because with his eyes gone, he could hear Bucky's soft breathing, feel their warm legs tangled together, reach out blindly to swat Barnes away from touching him again. “How’s about you put them cold hands of yours to good use and make your good pal a cup’a coffee?”  
“Good pal? Say, that’s not what you were to me last night, huh?” Bucky smirked as he got out of bed, throwing a pillow at Steve on his way out.  
“Jerk.” Steve mumbled into his own pillow after Bucky was out of earshot.  
  
Later, Bucky took him out to the park for no reason in particular, and though they knew they couldn't make out or hold hands or do anything that a couple _should_ have been able to do, Steve could see it in Bucky's eyes.  
"See what?" Barnes asked when Steve told him, and he shrugged, feeling the tips of his ears go the colour of the brick building behind. A leaf landed on Bucky's head. It was the colour of daffodils in the spring, of the sun over the sea, of the warm glow that surrounded his 'good pal's' heart. He blew it off, tiptoeing, and Bucky laughed brightly.  
"One day we'll have it all." He promised. Steve knew what he could see in Bucky's eyes, now: the stars, the galaxies, the whole universe discovering itself in one tiny spark of life. The sea, calm and then just... not, but not quite raging either, because the sky above was still clear. Burning, perhaps, longing; full of passion, but never destroying, never violent, never anything but gentle for Steve.  
"Shut your mouth, Rogers; you'll catch flies. I know I'm beautiful, but ya don't need to stare." Steve shut his mouth and coughed. He thought a bit more.  
  
Bucky thought too. Was this love? Was it really? Because every time Steve laughed, he melted a little bit more. He missed Steve even when they were standing right next to each other. He missed Steve when they were lying in bed together. He missed Steve when they were making out. A leaf the colour of a rose drifted down to Steve's feet, and Bucky thought that _yes, that's his colour, that's our colour. That's the colour of love._  
"Hey, look at this one, Buck." Rogers bent over to pick it up and brandish it in his face. "It's the colour of a strawberry."  
"Strawberries give me hives and you know it." He snapped back, and then added as an afterthought, "Punk." Steve made a face, scrunching up his nose and wiggling his head a little bit, and dropped the leaf. Then he smiles. God, Bucky aches for that smile. He'd give anything to see it again. But if it was causing him so much pain, why couldn't he stop?  
"D'you think you can be an addict to love?" He blurted, much like when he'd abruptly asked Steve if he had ever kissed a girl that day in the park. What was it with parks? Maybe _that's_ what was making him so crazy and not Steve. "Actually, forget that. I think I'm allergic to parks."  
"Maybe it's all the strawberries." Steve frowned, looking concerned, and they burst into laughter.  
_Yes, it was love._

_iii.                1940_

Steve didn’t see much of Bucky after that. He was enlisted. Steve wasn’t.

“Promise you’ll be safe?” Steve asked quietly between kisses. They were in the kitchen, Bucky was about to leave for the station.

“I promise. Promise you won’t—” Kiss. “Forget about me?”

“Hm, yeah. Yeah, I’ve forgotten already.” Steve smiled, a little sadly.

“I love you, ‘ya punk.” Bucky smiled, pressing his lips to Steve’s once more.

“I love you, too.” Steve said, earnestly. He couldn’t help but think that it was the first time they’d ever said—that. He tried to clear the thought from his mind; the notion that it would likely be the last time.

_iv.                  1945_

He wished that he’d said it more.

_v.                2016_

“Buck,” Steve whispered, nudging Bucky’s shoulder. “Hey. Bucky. Wake up.”

“Too early.” Bucky grumbled. “Tired. Come sleep, I’m cold.” He whined, grabbing Steve by the waist and pulling him closer. “Five minutes.”

“Only because morning Bucky is my favourite Bucky, jerk.” Steve lay down and wrapped his arms around Bucky’s back. “Dragging me back to bed comes with a price, though.” He whispered, pressing his lips against Bucky’s gently.

“A price I’m happy to pay.” Bucky grinned, biting on Steve’s lip before kissing him again, a lot less softly.

“Mm. You know what today is?” Steve asked, smiling fondly at him as he pulled away slightly, his lips still pressed to Bucky’s cheek.

“Um, yeah? It’s taco Tuesday?” Bucky smiled, closing his eyes.

“Asshole. It’s our eight—"

“Eighty years anniversary. I know, Stevie. You big sap.”

“Not my fault I’ve been in love with you for eighty years—“

“You were frozen for seventy of them—”

“I can still think about you if I’m frozen.”

“I got frozen too, that ain’t how it works, and,”

“Don’t care, I loved you when I went in the ice and,”

“Shut up,” Bucky pressed his face into the pillow, laughing and swatting at Steve with his metal arm.

“And I loved you when I came out,” Steve giggled, inching himself forward.

“Shut up! I love you, you fuckin’ dork!” He kissed him, if only to stop himself from smiling like an idiot (it made him smile even more, obviously).

“I got somethin’ for ya,” Steve said, reaching for his sketchbook on the table. He pulled out a weathered and wrinkled photo strip, obviously from their earlier days – their _way_ earlier days.

“No fuckin’ way,” Bucky laughed, taking Steve’s wrist and pulling it closer so he could see the photo. “Our first date. The day we made it official. You are such a sap, I can’t believe it.”

Sure enough, the strip was the same four photos from their day at the fair, the four frames of them kissing in the booth. “I may be a sap, but you love me for it.”

Bucky spent a good while poring over the photos; he hadn’t laid eyes on them in almost a century. He smiled, and looked up at Steve.

“I do- you punk, I really do love you.”

“You- uh, want some coffee?” Steve asked, hoping to God that he wasn’t blushing as much as it felt like he was.

“You’re a dork.” Bucky laughed. He kissed Steve lightly again, appreciating the normality and domesticity of it. “I’d _love_ a coffee,”

_vi.                2018_

The battle was going to happen soon. Something in the air, in the atmosphere was telling them that it would not end well. For anybody. Steve knew that he should be preparing, should be doing something other than this, but he couldn’t make the same mistake twice.

He waited for Bucky outside Shuri’s lab. He tried to smile when he saw him, but there was something in Bucky’s eyes that saw right through him.

“What are you...? No, I—” Bucky said, trailing off a little. “I know.” He shook his head. “All these years and you’re still waitin’ up for me.”

“What can I say? I love you.”

“Steve—don’t.”

“I didn’t say it enough before, though I l—” Bucky cut him off with a soft kiss. Steve jumped slightly, forgetting himself for a moment before leaning into the touch. They pulled away at the same time, Bucky didn’t move his hands from Steve’s face.

“I love you,” he whispered. “But the end of the line ain’t today.”

“Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes.” T’Challa said, not needing to make it a question. His expression gave away nothing, he didn’t seem like he minded what Steve and Bucky just did. “We should head to the field, if you are ready?”

Steve and Bucky glanced at each other and nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah, we’re ready.”

\-          Fin.

**Author's Note:**

> so basically, my initial idea was a short drabble about stucky kisses throughout the years, but it sort of became?? my idea of their relationship? like how it all happened in my mind? well to HELL with the short part of that because i've never written anything longer than 1.5k words before this so hahahahah what fun 
> 
> anyways  
> come visit us on tumblr?!  
> \- damnablepixie.tumblr.com  
> \- the-artofconfusion.tumblr.com


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